


Ring in the New Year

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Family, Fluff, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Eve, Romance, Smissmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spending his Smissmas furlough with his lover, Demoman, has made Sniper realize just how right it feels to be a part of the DeGroot family.  He decides perhaps he should act on that feeling, and make it permanent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring in the New Year

**Author's Note:**

> a secret santa gift for tumblr user ridivenire

"Cocoa's ready, just waitin' on the toast," Demoman reported, having come from the kitchen. He leaned against the doorway to his living room, the mansion's drafty size being slowly overcome by the hot glow of the room's fireplace. He offered a warm smile to Sniper, who crouched in front of the hearth, poking at the logs with a cast iron rod, careful to keep the cinders at a minimum. No good setting the Smissmas stockings ablaze, no matter that the holiday had arrived and was slowly retreating as the day passed by.

Smissmas break had offered the two mercenaries a chance to spend their time together in quiet, enjoying the cold desert nights content and cuddled in the bomber's king sized bed. Australia was a long way from Teufort, and he'd been given the choice between spending his furlough with his parents or his beloved Tavish and his sweet old mum. He loved his parents dearly but knew they'd spend much of the holiday lecturing him about his life choices, whereas Lady DeGroot would only be lecturing Tavish, and not him. As such, Sniper had elected to take the invitation his boyfriend had extended with glee. He'd made sure to call his parents on Smissmas eve, with a promise to call the next day as well, and sent a postcard for good measure.

"The cocoa needs tae cool anyway," Demoman rejoined once Sniper had set down his poker and returned the smile.

"No use burnin' me mouth," Demoman's mum agreed gruffly, almost as if to remind the two, sharing a silent moment, that she was still there, cozied into her favourite chair and wrapped in a housecoat and comforter, listening to the radio. Neither man was sure how the old blind woman was able to do that, always interrupting their loving glances. "Like the last time. And the time before that, Tavish."

"Yes, Mum," Demoman replied, cowed and rolling his eye, mostly for Sniper's amusement.

"Mum, can I get you anythin' while you wait?" Sniper asked, rising from his crouch and wincing as his back popped loudly.

"A new spine, so perhaps I dinnae have tae be assaulted with that bloody racket every time ye stand. That would be a proper start," Mum growled, but there were no teeth in it, and Sniper knew. He chuckled in reply, and received a whoop from the old lady in return, her ability to keep a straight face undone by the lanky Aussie clearly having her number.

"You're one to talk, with your knees made of bubble wrap," he teased, coming round to lean at the back of her chair.

"D'ye hear the way this numpty speaks tae his elders, Tavish? Sad tae say ye didnae inherit yer taste in lads from me, if this mess is what ye bring home tae yer mum!"

"It could be plenty worse, Mum. I could've dated Scout," Demoman teased.

"The wee one with the loud mouth? Yer tryin' tae make me join yer Da with threats like that!"

They all shared a laugh, and Mum reached a hand up to pat Sniper's arm reassuringly. "Yer a good lad, Michael."

"Thank you, Mum," Sniper replied warmly, leaning down to press a kiss to her wrinkled cheek.

"Aye, yer a good lad, Mickey," Demoman agreed, coming over to wrap his arms around his boyfriend when he straightened, catching him for a quick peck on the lips amidst a soft chuckle.

"The toast, Tavish," Mum tutted.

With a silent sigh, his forehead falling to Sniper's shoulder in exasperation, he voiced an even, "Aye, Mum," before parting with one last kiss and retreating to the kitchen. Hot cocoa and buttered toast was Smissmas day tradition, after all.

"If I get cold butter just sittin' atop cold toast, I swear," Mum grumbled to Sniper with a smirk on her lips. It set the Aussie to sniggering again. The old cuss had such fire in her; it reminded Sniper of exactly how his own mum was not, though perhaps his dad might get on well with her.

He wondered if they'd ever meet. Or have cause to. The assassin took a seat on the sofa, visions dancing in his head of folding chairs set on either side of an aisle before an altar in some flowering field. A family of dark skinned Scottish nobles with varying degrees of missing eyes all dressed in their best tartan on one side, a comparatively small amassment of sunburnt, peachy-skinned Australians scattered across the other, all squinting and keeping to themselves. He sighed.

The past few days, spending Smissmas with Tavish and his Mum, were some of the happiest days he could remember. It was comfortable. It was right. And as Demoman strode into the room, a tray of mugs and toast in his strong hands, the sweater Sniper had knit him as a present wrapped around his handsome frame, he wondered if he could have every Smissmas day be like this.

  


*

  


"Every time I looks out there, it makes me smile," Demoman mumbled, glancing out the window. The dry dust of New Mexico, rocks and sand stretching out around the cozy mansion, was lit by the silver glow of the moon, the sky cloudless, stars twinkling. Mum had gone to bed hours ago, leaving the two mercenaries some quiet time beside the fire.

Sniper looked up from his lover's lap where they cuddled together on the sofa, the lights off, the throw blanket he curled up under tickling his face with its fringe as he shifted. "It is pretty," he agreed, following his lover's gaze.

"Not just that. I just think about all o' the stories the others've told us about their Smissmas traditions. Scout and his brothers fightin' with snowballs. Heavy reading tae his mum and sisters. That sort o' thing. Especially since we've nae got tae do it in the bloody snow," Demoman laughed, his fingers scratching through Sniper's hair, dragging softly along his scalp.

"So it makes you 'appy because we're in the desert."

"Scotland is cold and rainy. That whole mess o' islands is cold and rainy. Aye. Aye I am," the bomber teased, his fingers lingering behind the bushman's ear and scratching small circles.

"Can't say as I blame you," came the Australian's mumble, fading into a contented sigh.

They lay there in silence, listening to the popping of the fire and the occasional howl of desert winds, smiles on their lips bathed in the glow of the hearth and the moonlight through the window. Sniper nuzzled into Demoman's thigh and pressed lazy kisses atop the sweatpants he wore.

"Honestly I don't care what the weather's like." Sniper broke the quiet, stretching a bit. "So long as I'm with you."

The Scot pet at his lover's cheek, cradling his face as he smiled down at him so wide that the bushman worried he'd break into tears. "I feel the same, love."

Sniper grinned up at Demoman. He reached up a hand to brush his cheek, trailing back to scratch behind his ear before he settled back down. This man, this perfect golden god above him, swathed in firelight and moonlight in equal measure, meant more than the world to him. Every time he met the bomber's single eye, he felt his chest tighten and flutter. His touch gave him life and bliss. His voice hummed through him and made him light as air. Even after the butterflies of new romance had long faded, this beautiful creature still made him feel like every kiss they shared was their first kiss. They'd had so many first kisses, and Sniper thought maybe he'd spend his life having first kisses until his very last. "I love you, Tav."

"I love ye too, Mickey."

"Merry Smissmas."

"Aye, Merry Smissmas."

  


*

  


The next morning had brought with it the sort of quiet reserved for the stretch between Smissmas and New Year's. The sort of post-celebratory repose pregnant with the promise of revelry not far into the future. A pause in activity, exhausting in its tranquility. Demoman had elected to make breakfast while Sniper took Mum her tea, and as the bushman set the cup and saucer down on the table beside the old woman's chair, she took hold of his arm.

"What is it?"

Sniper's nose wrinkled in confusion. "It's tea, Mum."

"Not that. Ye want tae say somethin'. I can tell. Ye got this sort o' nervous energy about ye. Can practically feel it comin' off ye. What is it?" she expanded, releasing him to pick up her tea.

The bushman straightened a bit. He was never sure how she could tell when he was nervous about things, but she always did, with unerring accuracy. "How do you do that?"

"Out with it," she ordered, taking a sip.

"Well," Sniper began, taking a seat on the sofa beside her. He scrubbed through his hair with one hand, trying to think of how to say it. "I got to thinkin'. This Smissmas, with you and Tavish, it's been wonderful. You know I love 'im, and I love you, Mum," he explained, fondly. "And Tav, 'e's special. 'e's important. I want every Smissmas to be with 'im. Every day, really."

"So when do ye plan tae ask him?"

Sniper rubbed the back of his neck. This was happening. This conversation was happening. "I wanted to ask you, first."

"Michael, I'm far too old for ye," Mum joked, setting down her tea with a chuckle. It had the desired effect. She could hear the lanky Aussie heave a laugh and relax. "So ye want me permission tae marry me son, do ye?"

"Yes."

"So old-fashioned. Ye goin' tae give a dowry too, then?"

"I've got a rusted out camper van and a couple of bags of beef jerky you could 'ave," the bushman chuckled.

"I'll take the jerky. Ye can keep that clapped-out beater."

"Damn."

Mum stilled herself in reaching for her tea again, waiting for her laughter to fade and her hands to cease their shaking before picking the cup and saucer back up again for a sip. "Ye dinnae have tae ask, Michael Mundy. Yer a good lad. Good work ethic, polite, can take a joke, and ye can hold yer drink. That aside, Tavish says ye wear a kilt well. That's important if yer marryin' intae the DeGroots. I'd be honoured tae have ye as a son-in-law," the old dam admitted.

"Thank you, Mum," Sniper replied warmly, fiddling with his hands.

"When d'ye plan tae ask him?"

"I 'adn't figured out yet. I need to get a ring of some sort, and then decide 'ow to do it."

"We're four days from the new year. Sounds a romantic time tae pop such a question. Beginnin' o' the new year, beginnin' o' a new part o' yer lives together, aye?"

Sniper thought a moment. "That's so romantic there's no way 'e'll believe it was my idea."

"His da was like that. Timed things just right, always thought about the wee things. He proposed tae me the day I lost me first eye. Was in hospital, laid up with a few injuries. We'd been courtin' for some time by that point. Took me hand in his, and told me the DeGroot clan motto. 'Regionem Caecorum Rex Est Luscus.' In the land o' the blind, the one-eyed man is king. He pulled the ring from his pocket and asked me tae be his one-eyed queen. Doctor yelled at him fer makin' me cry and muss me bandages." Mum sighed, picking up the framed photograph of her family from the table, exchanging it for her teacup.

"That's beautiful."

"Aye, it was. He was like that." She caressed the spot on the glass where she knew her late husband's face sat, sighing. It had been so long since she'd felt his face, held him close, heard his voice, inhaled his scent, felt his warmth. Longer still since she'd seen that handsome face with her own eyes. Her chest grew tight, her lip trying its damnedest to quiver as she bit back her emotions. "It never gets easier," she mumbled. "Ye just get used tae it."

"I'm sorry, Mum. I wish I could've known 'im."

"Ye'd like him. Tavish takes after him by a lot," she smiled, setting the photo down. "Though I'm nae sure he'd be as keen as I about our only son marryin' a bloke."

"Hopefully marryin'."

"What? As if he'd say nae! Michael, me son is smitten for ye."

Sniper smiled at that, a soft sound leaving his throat to communicate this to the blind woman.

"How about this, Michael?" Mum began, turning her attention to making plans. "Ye two invite yer lads over. Have a wee New Year's party. Nothin' outrageous, just some drinks with the ones ye care about. That team o' yers. That way ye can be sure ye share a kiss and a toast at the stroke o' midnight."

"What if I put the ring in 'is glass? When we toast, 'e'll see it, and then I can ask 'im?"

"There's my lad," the old dam grinned, tapping her temple with a finger.

"I'd better get on this, then, if the lads are gonna travel in such short notice, and I need to find a ring. Mum, how am I gonna find all of the time for this?"

"I'll keep Tavish busy round the house, have him work on settin' it up."

"You're a godsend, Mum."

"Keep the compliments comin', lad. I could always use more," she chuckled.

"Och, her head is swollen enough, love," Demoman interrupted, arriving smelling of bacon. "Is this what ye've been up tae? Here I thought ye'd gotten lost, nae comin' back tae help with breakfast," he teased, rounding on Mum's chair.

"Sorry," Sniper shrugged with a smile.

"Always rabbitin' on. And here we all thought ye were such a quiet lad." The bomber chuckled, helping his lover to his feet. "How wrong we were." He received a light slug to the arm and a laugh, and the two helped Mum up, Tavish taking her arm to lead her to the dining room while Sniper grabbed her empty teacup and saucer. "So what were ye two on about?"

"We--" Sniper began, quickly interrupted by Mum.

"I was tellin' Michael how oddly quiet this Smissmas was, even with the both o' ye around," she covered, giving Sniper a nudge to hush him.

"It was nice," Demoman agreed.

"It was dreadful," his mother corrected with a frown. "Last few years it's been so quiet I can hear meself aging."

"Aye, it's nae the same as the old family Smissmasses."

"The music, the laughter, the chatter, the food, the drink..."

"The fights, the stunts, the competitions, the property damage," the bomber rejoined.

"Aye, but that was half the fun!" Mum chuckled, patting her son's arm. "It was nice. A familiar, lively sort o' nice. Made ye feel young just by proximity."

"It has been a few years since we've gone back tae Scotland for Smissmas," Demoman agreed. "The travel is such a hassle. Ye ken yer on watch lists at all the airports."

"Ye try tae bring a wee dose o' the family powder home and suddenly yer 'dangerous' and 'smuggling illegal explosives' and 'drunk and disorderly' and 'resistin' arrest'. It's bollocks, is what it is."

"Mum..."

"Skittish childishness," Mum asserted. "And now I cannae travel, and I'm trapped in me own home with just the two o' ye for company. I miss the revelry."

"Maybe next year we can invite some o' the family here for Smissmas?"

"Next year is a year away! I could be dead in the cold ground by then, Tavish!" Mum reprimanded as they strode into the dining room, stopping hard and making Demoman nearly stumble to avoid tugging her off of her feet.

"Mum, dinnae say--"

"I'm nae gettin' any younger," she grumbled, allowing herself to be led to and helped into her seat. The table was set, three plates laden with over-easy eggs, sausages, baked beans, and tattie scones, the savory aroma filling the dining room. Dimly, Mum could hear Sniper inhaling deeply near her, relishing the thick scent of the hearty meal.

"Then what do ye want?"

"A party."

"What, now?"

"For New Year's eve," Mum clarified. She grinned wide.

"The family cannae get their things in order in such short time, Mum."

"Did I say tae invite the family? I ken that ye daft idiot. I just want somebody here besides we three. It's deathly quiet. What about those lads ye work with?"

"The team?" Tavish asked, leaning on a chair as he rounded the table. "Ye said that, right? I dinnae have somethin' barmy stuck in me ear? That lot?"

"They aren't exactly...polite company," Sniper muttered, trying to avoid being conspicuous in his silence. "Well, Doc, Spy, Engie, and Heavy are, or at least can be."

"Absolutely nae. Soldier'll show up without pants or somethin'."

“Isnae like I can see it," Mum shrugged.

"She's got you there." Sniper chuckled until Demoman shot him a look, and he quieted down, trying to clamp down on the smile still tugging at his lips, shaking and red with the effort and amusement. He quickly busied himself with his eggs and tattie scones.

"Tavish, if I can put up with ye when ye come home pissed and smellin' o' cheap fireworks, singin' and hollerin' after a night out, I can put up with yer rowdy teammates." Mum took a bite of a sausage and chewed defiantly.

"But why the team?"

"They're headed back here soon enough anyway. Surely they'd be convinced tae return a few days early for the promise o' expensive food and drink."

"You mention top shelf liquor and Spy's 'ere in a flash, criticizing the food while still shoveling into his face, the freeloader," Sniper mused between sips of his orange juice.

"Yer serious."

"I'm bored," Mum summarized, leveling a blind-eyed gaze right on Tavish. It unnerved him; it always unnerved him how unerringly she could find him and lock eyes with him without being able to see where he was.

With a long-suffering sigh, Demoman sank finally into his seat across from Sniper and looked to his lover with pleading eyes. He was greeted with an earnest smile. He would receive no assistance. Sniper seemed to think it was a decent enough idea.

What a prick, that Sniper. Played the introvert, the quiet, reserved gunman, when he really loved gatherings. Gave him an excuse to tell outrageous stories, the showoff. Demoman was sure he mostly just loved the sound of his own voice. He couldn't blame him, really. It was magnificent"

"Aye, alright. Fine. We'll try tae get the team."

"If you like, Tav, I can 'andle the supplies and such. I was meanin' to head into town today anyway; pick up some more coffee," Sniper offered with a small smile to his boyfriend.

"Sounds good, love. I can handle the calls and arrangements, then."

"And I shall eat my breakfast, since it's getting cold with all o' yer complainin' wastin' me time, Tavish Finnegan DeGroot." Mum picked at her plate carefully, as was her way, a smirk twisting her wrinkled lips.

Sniper, for his part, held back a laugh at his poor lover's expense. Instead just offering him a smile before digging into his own food.

Demoman sighed and stabbed an egg open, watching the yolk run.

  


*

  


"You are—you are serious? That hardly gives me time to pack or arrange travel, Demo!" Medic grumbled into the phone. He held a finger in one ear, plugging it against all ambient noise as he spoke with the demolitionist across the world. "It was difficult enough getting into these mountains to begin with, you realize."

"Aye, I—tae be honest, Doc, I _was_ expectin' tae talk tae Heavy. I didnae ken ye were spendin' Smissmas with him," the bomber hemmed, leaning against the arm of his sofa, idly tapping at the phone's cord and watching it bounce.

"I have no remaining family, if you recall. When Heavy discovered I was going to be spending mein Smissmas break at home with mein birds und some spiked egg nog, he was horrified. He demanded I come with him to spend furlough with his mama und sisters. They are lovely women, though I have never received so many violently friendly hugs in such short succession in mein life."

"Leave it tae Heavy tae keep an eye on ye over furlough," Demoman chuckled. "That's nice."

Medic continued, barely acknowledging his teammate. "Und his mama continues to claim I am unhealthily underweight und need to bulk up. She has practically been force-feeding me."

"That's rough, Doc. But—like I was sayin', it'd mean a lot if ye could make it. Ye'll have tae be back two days later anyway, and I've put Mundy in charge o' the food and drink. It'd be a pity tae have too much."

"Wait, Sniper is procuring the liquor, not you? Oh, well ja then, we will make every attempt to be there!" Medic laughed.

"Oi, what's wrong with me liquor?"

"The fact that it tastes like distilled fire und hate, mostly."

"Have ye _tried_ the Mundy family moonshine recipe?"

"Nein, nor do I intend to. But all the same, we will do our best to arrive. I don't think Heavy will have any issue in leaving a bit early. I am beginning to suspect that his younger sisters might fancy me--"

"Och, Doc, sorry tae interrupt but I think I hear Mum callin'. Ye understand," Demoman lied, eyeing the phone cradle.

"Oh, oh of course, Demo, it--"

"See ye at the party?"

"J-ja, auf wiedersehen!"

"See ye, Doc!"

Demoman hung up the phone with a laborious sigh, relieved to have ducked out of what he was sure was the build-up to one of Medic's long-winded phone rambles. It must be difficult being cooped up in the mountains with a family he barely shares a language with. Hopefully partying and socializing with the team would ease the extroverted doctor's atrophied social muscles. Demoman snatched up a note-pad from the phone table and crossed off Heavy's name and number, then Medic's as well, spared the trouble of another phone call. He'd already called Scout, dealt tensely with Merasmus on the phone so he could relay the invitation to Soldier before he next evicted him from their castle, followed the series of phone calls required to get hold of Spy, and rang Engineer and Pyro, the latter of whom had apparently demanded to burn a yule log the day prior in spite of the Conagher house no longer having a fireplace. That was all of them. Time to figure out where to hide the good vases and other breakables.

  


*

  


Sniper's eyes were wide as he looked in the little ring box. He could hardly believe he had it. The bloke at the jeweler had certainly given him a few funny looks regarding the ring size of his future fiance, and seemed more than a little derisive of the bushman's accent and manner of dress, but that didn't matter. None of it mattered. Sniper sat in the front seat of his van, parked in front of the fanciest jeweler in town, holding a little, black, hinged box with a small red pillow inside. Recessed into that pillow was a gold ring, a small diamond set into the thick band with smaller rubies flanking it in a pattern that resembled a sunburst on a very small scale. Scrollwork traced out on either side of the jewels, and on the inside of the band were the words, "In Amore Et Bellum," engraved opposite the gems.

It was fancy, but not garish, and Sniper felt his canines poking into his bottom lip as he couldn't keep himself from smiling. It was perfect for Demoman, because he was perfect.

A trip to the liquor store and grocery store, and he'd head home to go help his lover plan and set up, as well as make dinner for that evening. They had four days to get ready. Four days until the new year. Four days until he asked Demoman to be his husband.

Sniper took a deep breath through his nose as he started the van. Four days was going to be forever.

  


*

  


The next four days went by rather quickly, a whirlwind of hiding the more expensive and/or irreplaceable pieces of decor, setting up additional tables, organizing and preparing the menu, arranging for plates, flatware, cups and glasses, mixers and garnishes, and hanging decorations around the mansion. Demoman insisted balloons be tied to the mailbox, no matter how silly Sniper insisted it looked.

"It's not like they're not goin' to find the 'ouse. It's a lone mansion in the middle of nowhere."

"It's the principle! Ye have a party, ye put balloons on the mailbox! It's just how it's done!"

Sniper chuckled and ruffled a hand through Demoman's hair. It was starting to grow out a bit, and he'd probably cut it short again once furlough was over. He was always sad to see it go, enjoying the messy tight curls the Scot wore so handsomely. Of course, he wore anything handsomely, even nothing at all. Especially nothing at all. "Right, right, whatever you say, Tav. When're we expectin' the team to show up?"

Demoman walked back into the mansion, his lover at his heels. "It's almost nightfall, so they should be arrivin' soon." Closing the door behind them, he headed over to the drink table and helped himself to some punch. He took a swig and raised both eyebrows. "Ye make this?"

"No, I thought you 'ad."

"I made the punch ye numpties," Mum groused, slowly picking her way through the living room to get a feel for its new layout. Too many tables for her fancy but she knew once more of that punch was gone there would be no hope of getting anyone to leave the room for food or drink. Not with the sheer amount of rum she'd loaded it up with.

"Is there juice in this?" Demoman asked, taking a second sip. It certainly wasn't stopping him.

"A wee bit. It's mostly spiced and gold rum because I'm nae some nancy who needs her punch cut with juice."

"Punch is juice, Mum! Yer supposed to spike it with liquor, not spike the liquor with punch!"

Sniper took Demoman's cup and took a sip. "All things said it's rather good for being almost straight rum."

"I didnae spend years learnin' tae tend bar by smell alone tae mix a sub-par drink, lad. And I still make the finest mojito anywhere!"

Demoman opened his mouth to speak but found himself interrupted by the doorbell. He sighed a moment, looking helplessly to Sniper who just smiled to him knowingly. It was no use fighting with Mum. He cast a look to the old dam, knowing she couldn't see it, and strode over to the door. He took a breath, dismissed his frustrations, and let a broad grin split his face as he swung it open. "Evenin'!"

He was greeted with an emphatic and rather painfully excited hug as Pyro leapt into his arms, laughter thrumming out of their mask, their suit creaking beneath the fancy party dress they wore atop it. Behind them, Engineer chuckled, dressed in his nicest jeans and a nicely-pressed dress shirt and bolo tie. He'd been worried about being under-dressed, but seeing his teammate being hugged viciously by his friend, dressed in a black tee and his kilt, the Texan suddenly felt a bit more at ease. All the same, he removed the rancher's hat he wore atop his head and tapped Pyro with it gently. "Pyro, you might wanna let the poor fella breathe sometime soon, else this'll go from a party to a funeral right quick."

Demoman gasped for air as Pyro released him, the firebug's vice-like grip almost terrifyingly powerful. He slumped and tried to keep his grin as Pyro muffled out an apology and curtseyed. "Hey, no problem, Pyro. I'm happy tae see ye too. Come in! Hope you two had a good Smissmas?"

"I have never seen one person eat that many cookies," Engineer chuckled, closing the door behind him and hanging his coat and hat in the hall. "At least, that many without gettin' sick."

Pyro laughed, and upon seeing Sniper standing with Demoman's drink, sped over to him for hugs. The bomber chuckled as he watched the masked menace give his lover the same painful treatment and turned to Engineer. "Thanks fer comin', lad."

"Aw shucks, ain't no thing. We were just gonna sit at home and watch television anyway. Things've been quiet at the ranch. Not many Conaghers left, and the few there are are gettin' on in years. Which reminds me, I'm surprised your mom let you have a shindig here."

"Aye, she's the one who suggested it. Said it's too quiet around here for her tastes."

"Well I suppose when a lady's used to explosions." They shared a laugh as Engineer was led over to Mum.

"Mum, you remember our Engineer, Dell Conagher?"

"Lady DeGroot, a pleasure to see you again!" The Texan greeted, taking her offered hand and kissing her knuckles lightly. "You're lookin' well."

"Always the gentleman! It's a pleasure, Dr. Conagher," Mum replied with a coquettish laugh. Engineer was always so charming. He truly fit the ever-rare image of the polite Southern gentleman, which won him no small amount of the old dam's favour.

"The pleasure's all mine, Ma'am. And Pyro here is at my side. Pyro?"

"Hello," the firebug greeted through muffling filters, daintily shaking Mum's hand upon realizing curtseying wouldn't suffice for a woman who couldn't perceive the gesture.

"And hello tae ye, Pyro. I've heard about ye. Try not tae light any fires in me house. At least, none anywhere but the fireplace."

"Okey-dokey!" Pyro agreed. For all they cared, they'd just been given the task of getting the fireplace going, which suited them just fine.

"So are we the first ones to show up?"

"Aside from the folks who live 'ere," Sniper answered Engineer, taking another small sip of the punch-tainted rum.

"Well shoot, that gives us first dibs on the good drinks and comfortable seats," the Texan chuckled. "Got any good beers?"

"And a few whiskeys I know you'll like."

"Hoo-ee, Mundy! You know just how to make a fella's night!"

  


*

  


Teammates arrived in rapid succession. Spy, Scout, Soldier, and fashionably late, Heavy and Medic, who wore matching sweaters at the giant's insistence. His mama had knit them for the whole family, and rushed to make one for Medic when she'd learned he was going to be attending. There was no way he wouldn't look ungrateful if he didn't wear the damned thing. That aside, it helped the doctor hide the belly he'd developed after being stuffed full of Heavy's Mama's hearty Russian cooking.

Music filled the room, a rotation of records manned by Sniper, the far more sober of the two lovers, to keep things comfortable and just this side of rowdy. Crudites disappeared quickly from the food table, followed by the shellfish and steaks Demoman had prepared, which even the unadventurous Scout had wolfed down with glee. Pyro sat beside the fire most of the night, eating when everyone's backs were turned, drinking through a silly straw threaded into their mask. All the while, they tended the flames and kept the room toasty and warm as mercenaries chatted and told stories, exchanging tales of their Smissmas breaks and assorted families and facsimiles thereof. Spy made an effort to tease Medic about his sweater, and spent much of the evening talking top-shelf whiskey with Engineer and describing Parisian Smissmas with all of its pretty lights. Soldier was regaling anyone who would listen with the tale of how he and a troupe of wild raccoons saved the local church nativity display from some plastic light up star that threatened to fall from the top of it onto tiny Winston Churchill, and how some people in robes and a camel and a lamb rode backup. Mum seemed to be enjoying that story most of all, mostly due to its lack of any sense in the face of the bombastic way it was being told. The party could not have been going more smoothly.

Sniper toyed with the box in his pocket, watching as Demoman finished his most recent drink, punch spiked heavily with juice. His eyes flicked to the clock. Eleven fifty-five. Five minutes. "Right, mates! It's almost time! Get your drinks, yeh? I've got some wine in the kitchen for us, Tav."

Demoman smiled to his lover, "Savin' the good stuff for us?"

"Always."

"Aye, get tae it then," the bomber teased, giving the bushman's ass a swat as he walked away. He set down his glass, stuffing his hands in his pockets to busy them. It was almost midnight. He swallowed hard. Soon.

Sniper hurriedly uncorked the bottle of riesling he'd chilled for the occasion. It was sweet, as they both liked, and white. It would be easy to see the ring inside the liquid, and when Demoman took hold of the glass and saw what rested at its bottom, he would know. Butterflies sprang into existence in the assassin's gut, and he felt simultaneously heavy as lead and light as a feather. He filled a pair of tall, thin, long-stemmed glasses with the pale golden liquid, and pulling the box from his pocket, withdrew and dropped the engagement ring into one glass. This was it.

Taking hold of both glasses by their bowls, the stems slipping between his fingers so that he could hide the ring with his hand, he strode into the living room to find the team gathered around the television, where the time was counting down. Thirty seconds remained, and he took up a spot beside his lover.

Demoman smiled to the bushman, tilting in for a short kiss as the time ticked away. He nuzzled into the taller man's neck, whispering, "I love ye, Mickey."

"Love you too," Sniper grinned, shrugging against the bomber's cheek.

"Shut it! It's startin'!" Mum chastised, sitting close to the television to hear.

They call counted down together. Well, all except Spy, who simply raised an eyebrow at the hokey flair of it all.

"Ten!"

"Nine!"

"Eight!"

"Seven!"

"Six!"

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

Sniper handed Demoman his glass as they chanted out, "Two! One! Happy New Year!" They clinked their glasses together, joining the chorus of ringing glassware toasting around the room, and he watched his lover's face as he took a sip. He nearly choked.

Demoman had tossed back the glass of wine with the skill of an experienced drinker who cared not for the beverage he was imbibing. It disappeared down his throat in the heat of the moment, and with it, the glass' solid occupant. With a rub at his neck to dismiss the sudden scratchiness of his throat, he steeled himself and set the glass aside imperiously. In a smooth motion, he sank to one knee, hand digging in the pocket of his trousers. "Mickey, I want tae spend every year with ye, for the rest o' me life. So I want tae start this year with a new start for us." He tugged a small black box from his pocket and flipped open the lid, revealing a gold band with a single small diamond set into it, a trio of tiny rubies flanking it on either side. "Mick Mundy, will ye marry me?"

Sniper stood there, stunned. His eyes were wide, his jaw had dropped. All around him the team gasped quietly and grinned broadly, leaning in to await the answer. Nearby, Mum slapped her palm to her forehead in exasperation.

Looking up at him with his one eye glittering in the warm light of the living room and the reflection of the television, Demoman smiled that enchanting, earnest smile that never failed to make the bushman weak.

"Tavish," he breathed, his breath growing short. "Tavish, I--"

"Mickey?" The bottom fell from Demoman's stomach. He'd expected a raucous yes and a huge hug and a kiss impolite for company. Instead, he was being stared at like he'd terrified the other man. Maybe it had been too much to hope that he'd felt the same way, and he'd just made an enormous fool of himself in a room full of their closest friends.

"You swallowed your ring."

"What?"

"I—I was goin' to propose. Mum 'elped set it up and everything. I put your ring in your wine glass, and I was about to ask after we toasted, assumin' you'd see it in the glass when you took a sip. And then you tossed it back and you—you drank your ring."

"WHAT?"

"I mean, yes, yes I'll marry you, of course! I mean, that's what I wanted to ask you! But you...swallowed the ring."

They stared at each other in disbelief for a moment until finally the laughter struck. Demoman rolled onto his side and howled, Sniper kneeling to join him. He wrapped his arms around the bomber and kissed him, only to be tugged to the floor atop him, pressing their bodies together and tangling their legs as they laughed and smooched. Demoman took the ring he held from its box and slipped it onto Sniper's finger, sealing the gesture with another kiss.

"So you eat engagement ring?" Heavy asked, baffled.

"Apparently," Demoman shrugged, a little concerned. How had he not felt that, even in the heat of the moment?

"It seems he is skilled at blindly and effortlessly swallowing whatever is put in his mouth. How fortunate, Sniper," Spy teased, earning an elbow to the gut from Engineer.

"There is a lady present, you perverted snake!"

"You should have your ring back in a day or two," Medic offered with a smile, quickly supplying, "Of course, if you'd like it back sooner, I can always help with that." He reached into the breast pocket of the shirt he wore beneath his sweater, rooting a bit through the neck-hole of the overlarge garment until he retrieved a capped scalpel. The room went silent, all eyes turned on the now-armed doctor.

Sniper and Demoman looked to one another. Neither prospect sounded entirely pleasant or cleanly. Finally, the bomber spoke, "So d'ye want tae put me out, Doc? Or should I start drinkin' more tae get there meself?" He snatched up Sniper's glass and tipped it to his new fiance with a grin.


End file.
